The Bright Side Of Suffering
by TRIGGER M00NSHIELD
Summary: Follows the darker side of the Akatsuki and Hidden village shinobi
1. Konan

Konan yawned and wrapped a towel around her body.  
Though she dried herself after her shower, the humid air trapped in their tiny bathroom clung to her skin and formed droplets around her brow.  
Dabbing her face again, she glanced at herself in the cracked mirror.  
Years ago, she had red hair. Not orange or strawberry blonde. She had dark, blood red hair.  
Long as well, if memory served. Konans hair had grown past her waist.  
Those thick locks had clashed beautifully against her yellow eyes and represented her vibrant personality.

Since the war had begun and everything had turned upside down, Konans hair had begun to turn a sad blue.

It wasn't a purple, or a speckled reddish-blue.  
It turned blue at the roots. As her hair grew longer, the blue began to take over.  
Lack of money meant she was unable to afford dyes.  
It had saddened her that her beautiful hair would turn.  
Once so full of life and happiness before the world's turmoil, Konans hair seemed to reflect her inner self, sadness.  
By the time she lost everything, her head was as blue as paint, only the tips remained red.

Thinking she looked silly, Konan cut it.

It was now a shoulder length cut.  
Dark blue as ever, it still made her eyes stand out. But now they were dull and empty.

Lifeless.

With heavy bags underneath them, she noted with distaste.  
She already looked like a grandmother, she didn't wanted wrinkles as well.

The crack in the mirror distorted her image.  
Perhaps her mirror reflected life as well…  
She was sure that before the war the mirror had been whole and though the bathroom was small, it could have been very warm and homey.  
The tiles lining the walls were cracked and the mortar holding them together was coated in a layer of grime.  
The mirror was clean enough, though the crack showed the dark brick behind it.  
There was a single bath – the kind with a shower head attached at the top.  
A dark yellow stain ominously crept from the end of the bath and pooled around the plug hole.  
The walls of the bathroom only extended enough for the bath to fit comfortably across one wall, from there, there was a half meter walk to the sink and mirror.  
Konan had often entertained the thought that perhaps she was not looking at herself in the mirror, but that her reflection was watching her, in an alternate universe where things were looking up perhaps.  
Though she supposed the crack in the mirror wouldn't bode well for her fantasy world.

Sighing, Konan flipped her hair forward and rubbed at it harshly in an attempt to rid it of excess water.  
The coils of wet hair clung to her face like tendrils as she drew the towel over her scalp.  
Eventually satisfied with the result, she opened the vents in the tiny room and headed back into the bedroom.  
She barely made it to the bed before she collapsed in exhaustion.


	2. Itachi

Sighing, he dropped the empty syringe to the floor.  
It clinked against the floorboards and rolled away under Kisames bed, probably never to be seen again.  
They were so easy to find, abandoned warehouses, burnt down hospitals, medicine shops.  
Morphine was everywhere.  
Slumped in a rickety old wooden chair, Itachi reflected on his 'drug' habit.  
When he really thought about it, he came to the conclusion that he did it to counteract depression, boredom and just flat out suppress anything else that might pop up…  
And of course, to ease the pain of his crippling disease.  
He sniffed and wiped his arm, tiny pin pricks of blood rubbing off onto his fingers.

He hadn't missed the comments the others made about him either.  
When ever he entered a room with dilated pupils, red eyes and bulging vein in his arm; the whispers always followed.  
Not that he could very well see who it was that said anything.  
He mainly distinguished people by their blurry colors, speeds and sizes.  
Pein knew he had impaired vision, but Itachi was smart enough to never let on that he was practically blind.

Maybe he was just paranoid… _a side effect of the chemicals no doubt._  
It wasn't as though he wasn't wanted… They were just… Worried is all…  
The whispers were getting to him though.  
They clung to him when he passed through room and haunted him like spirits.  
He could never be free of them.

They all had their own way of describing him. Despite everything, it _did_ kind of interest him.  
Deidara had said that although Itachis fuse was burning slowly, he was still about to blow.  
_Trust Deidara to compare him to an explosive…_  
Pein added his lack of sleep into the equation and had puzzled over it; although Itachi never dreams because he barely sleeps, he somehow kept his head in the clouds.

He had never really been one for complaining, Itachi just kept whatever pain he may have had to himself  
_The less people I tell, the less people it bothers_, he had figured

Leaning forward, rubbing his heads in his hands and fisting his hair he whispered,

"Why is it that when I'm getting high I feel so damn low…?"

_I must be getting out of control._


	3. Nagato

This beautiful city…  
Amegakure was built on coastal waters. Every building an innocent, refreshing white, it had stood proud and tall since its creation.  
Small bridges crossed back and forth over currents of clear, unpolluted water that passed through the natural canals.  
Native coral could be seen growing beneath the crystalline liquid, colored fish darting back and forth, in and out while larger creatures gracefully floated beside them. Dolphins bounced across the surface occasionally, drawing crowds and earning fish for their troubles.  
The people of Amegakure were as much a part of nature here, as the fish that graced the waters.

The white walls of the city contrasted aesthetically with the blue water. It was an Atlantis in its own right, a found paradise, a city among cities.  
The smell of salt hung pleasantly in the air as silver gulls chose their perches.  
An array of birds glided swiftly overhead, the scales of small fish glinting in their beaks.  
Market stalls lined the outer wall of the city, selling varieties of fish, vegetables, clothing and spices.  
A large city though it might have been, no one was a stranger.  
In specially sculpted coves, white stones gave way to fine, golden sand where children tossed brightly colored balls to one another and splashed in the silky ocean waters.  
A thriving economy graced its white cobblestone paths and a culture of rich colors and beautiful people inhabited its streets.

Nagato gazed upon its ruins stoically.

The walls now blackened with fire and ash, the buildings now crumbling to dust.  
The canals ran dry and salt deposits, rotten fish, flies and the skeletons of aging sea plants were building up in their absence, creating a thick soup of malodorous decay.  
Once clean white bridges connecting parts of the city now lay in ruins at the bottom of the ocean.  
Several buildings that had resided for centuries along the shore now rest half submerged in the polluted water.  
Not a soul was seen along the broken streets and not a living creature stirred in the ruins of the dystopian metropolis.

Red hair dancing slowly in the thin wind, soft rippled eyes glazed over in thought, he breathed in smoke and gun powder.  
The smoke created since the blasts and the fumes spewing from the poisoned waters created a thick, unwavering smog that threatened to choke what life remained out of the city.  
Amegakure would never recover from this.  
From his vantage point, atop the highest stable structure on the edge of the city, Nagato had a 360 degree view.  
To his right lay the forest, more of a jungle in its own right, the mists intertwined through the branches making it appear more ominous than it actually was.  
In front of him lay the ocean. Fetid waters washing up debris and unnatural objects that now appeared foreign in their normalcy. There was no safe way to access the water now, the buildings collapsing in on themselves blocked any potential path.  
Around him lay the city itself.  
Centuries worth of white bricks now tinted black and grey after their exposure to fire and ash.  
Some buildings stood stronger than others, but all of them suffered heavy damage. The remnants of houses and apartment blocks now reduced to rubble  
Jiraiya had warned his pupils not to go into these residential buildings. They should have been able to steal what they needed to survive from abandoned markets and houses.  
The onset of war had been so prompt that no one had even had time to waste buying the bare essentials, so most stores were still fully stocked after everyone had left.  
They could make a living from markets.  
Jiraiya had reasoned that they mustn't disturb the residential areas because he was sure, many people decided to stay in the city and hope for the best.  
Considering they hadn't seen a single other soul in at least a year, it had been their presumption that the walls which had once provided an element of peace for the living, now provided a tomb for the dead.  
They would respect that.

He had long since come to terms with the devastation that now lay before him, a desolate battle field of broken dreams and lost hope. But despite the loss, he had eventually gotten over it and now gazed upon the ruins in pure ataraxia. There was something about being alone that he had begun to find alluring.

Nagato waved a hand to clear the early morning fog and coughed into his fist.  
He had stayed too long. It was time to go.  
Turning on his heel, he headed back to one of the only buildings still standing in the lost haven that was once his home.  
Waiting for him there was a group of people brought together by the cataclysm.  
It wasn't much, but his makeshift surrogate family was something Nagato wouldn't give up for the world.  
Or what was left of it…  
Yahiko, Konan…  
_I'll be home soon…_


	4. Deidara

He lay in the decaying ruins of an old toy store.  
Broken toys and abandoned dolls and puppets were strewn lifelessly across the broken floorboards and dusty shelves like remnants of a once pleasant dream.  
Of a carefree time when everything was perfect and nightmares were something you could wake from.  
Flat out on his back, fingers intertwined on his chest, he gazed at the smog from the explosions that were hiding the sky from sight.  
On occasion he glimpsed a star, a tiny pin prick of light somewhere far away.  
_I'm like that star..._  
_Drifting in and out of an ugly fog from which I may or may not, surface._  
It was always the same star.  
Once, he mused, there were billions of stars gracing that beautiful dark sky; like diamonds on velvet.  
Now, there was only one.  
The smog was so thick and dark that Deidara often wondered if the other stars even existed anymore. Perhaps, like the residents of the village he had just destroyed, they had winked out of existence, nothing but memory keeping them alive.  
_That lonesome star is me..._  
Once lost in a crowd of millions, indistinguishable from any of the others - now unique, small, and alone.  
After abandoning Iwa there hadn't been anything else.  
Nowhere to call home, no one who knew him...  
He hadn't realised how much his home had ruled his world and now, there was nothing.  
There had been nothing for the 5 years since his abandonment.  
The loneliness had begun to take its toll.  
He had been stuck in this broken village for days, unable or unwilling, to move.  
Lost in a labyrinth of psychological ruins, Deidara wouldn't know how to get out now if he wanted too.  
Perhaps he had just given up and 'lost' was just a state of mind that ensured he stay trapped in this lifeless place, dead to all.  
In the darkness of his own mind, Deidara was alone.

On occasion he had sworn he heard a voice, a noise, accompanied by a blinding hope that he was not by himself... That he was not alone  
Just as quickly it would fade, teasing him into insanity, shattering his resolve.  
No. There was no one else. He was alone.  
He had become a creature unique in his survival, one of the last living in this world.  
Maybe he was just crazy...  
But perhaps being only one left, crazy was normal.  
He had decided at one point that he no longer wanted to be alone.  
It had been too late, for he had already destroyed the village.  
And so he crafted out of his clay the only humanoid figures he could find; puppets.

The ghosts of memories and people he once knew haunted him. Their omnipresence was unnerving in the quiet nothingness.  
That's what the world was now, nothingness, a never-ending darkness covered in never-ending smog.  
_I might as well just close my eyes and dream, dream of everything that was and everything that could have been..._  
In the bumbling utopia that had been his home, he had never thought there would come a time when dreams were better than reality.

So lost in thought was he, that he didn't detect the crunching sound of boots over crumbling concrete and rusting wires.  
He opened his heavy lids and saw the silhouette of a man standing over him.  
No face visible, he was just a dark shape of something that may or may not exist in the mad world of reality.  
Perhaps his time was up. His unique existence now destined to conform and fade out like all the other stars.  
This man standing over him, was this the Reaper?  
Deidaras gaze returned to the sky and his breath hitched in his throat.  
Another star shone through the smog, weak, but there none the less.  
Two stars... He was not alone.  
He carefully turned back to the shadow, afraid that if he moved too quick, the apparition of the man may disappear.  
"Who are you?" he whispered in wonder.  
The man shifted on his feet, seemingly content with the quiet but not forbidding the small whispers they would inevitably exchange.  
"No-one of consequence." He replied softly.  
_He must have thought I was dead...  
_Covered in a cold sweat, malnourished and pale, Deidara was the very definition of ill.  
Dried blood had oozed out of minor flesh wounds he had obtained wading through oceans of the bodies of the men, women and children he had killed earlier that week.  
His clothes were torn, singed and ragged and his feet were scabbed and covered in sores.  
"Who are you?" Deidara whispered again.  
The man leaned closer, red hair and intricate grey eyes becoming more visible in the fading light.  
He looked tired –world weary– and yet despite his phlegmatic expression he had an air of darkness surrounding him.  
Something that made Deidara want to trust him, made him want to believe in this man and trust him to take him away from this darkness, this world with only one star.  
To save him.  
Deidara closed his eyes as he drifted into the smog, into unconsciousness and heard, or imagined he heard, a voice near his ear.  
"I am Sasori." The voice whispered tonelessly. "And I am going to take you away."  
_Ahh... So he is the Reaper after all..._

...I don't fear the reaper...


	5. Sasuke

**So this is a random thing I just come up with.  
I don't particularly like Sasuke after he became such a douche (Sorry Sasuke fans)  
But I wanted to do this anyway.  
Hopefully it will get a positive response haha.  
Anyways, enjoy and as always:  
Leave your rates, reviews, complaints and pathetic excuses after the beep!  
**

* * *

The first one went in a crash.  
The second in a whisper.  
The third with a bang.

It had been hard, he would admit. But times such as these sometimes had to be experienced in order to mature and grow. You never really become an adult until you have experienced pain.  
Through the near intolerable darkness in his mind, he had climbed that steep hill and closed the cut before it had gotten deeper... sewed it shut before it could heal.  
He had been led astray in his mind for so long that he had lost hope. There had been nothing left...  
He became numb.  
Though he tried to deny it with every fibre of his being, every now and then he could hear a voice inside him begin to cry.  
Sometimes the bad ending sparks a new beginning.

* * *

"Mum are we there yet?"  
"No honey," the silky voice of the child's mother floated over the car seat to him, "But just 30 more minutes and you can see Itachi and your daddy again."  
The 5 year old boy in the back seat grinned happily at the thought of seeing his brother and father again. After 2 weeks, half an hour seemed almost too long to wait.  
Sighing happily the raven haired boy rested his head back on the seat, his arms wrapped around the bundle of quilts and pillows forced onto his lap to make room for the rest of the knick knacks and random housey things he and his mother were transporting from their old house to their new one.  
His head jerked up suddenly when a flash of blue caught his eye.

"Woah! I didn't know we were going to be living near a lake!"

In the front seat his mother, Mikoto smiled in content. Life couldn't get any better.  
And in the foreseeable future, it certainly couldn't get any worse.

The problem with her train of thought is that the future isn't foreseeable.

Many would argue that life is beautiful only because it doesn't last.  
It is fleeting and when it ends there is nothing but a memory of what it used to be.  
Something so fragile can be erased in a heartbeat.  
Philosophers argue that the gods envy our mortality for this one reason.

Other may say it is beautiful because it is like a masterpiece that lasts for so long.  
It ages over the years but in turn matures and becomes wise.  
Some say old age, like the sculptures of centuries past, are only regarded as beautiful because of their history, something collected over time. They have survived the horrors of the world to remain untouched.

However, no matter how beautiful, the memory fades and decays with the generations until it is no longer remembered, but simply a piece of history ingrained in the DNA of the predecessors of death.

Perhaps both opinions are true. Perhaps both are false.  
The child in the backseat had neither the life experience nor the foresight to decide had he been asked.  
All he could discern from what followed was a sudden screech of tires, a thunderous noise and the giant metal bulk he was in coming to an abrupt halt.

"Ouch... Mum what was that?"

The pillows and quilt felt suffocating against him. But they had acted as makeshift airbags so despite his discomfort, he didn't complain.  
Huffing in slight annoyance when his mother didn't answer him, the small boy tried to push himself off the chair to get a glimpse over the quilts.

A slight panic ignited in his chest when he noticed the car filling with smoke.

Sitting back down, he tried to move the blankets aside to undo his seatbelt and make access to his mother easier.  
The seatbelt however had other plans and the raven haired child growled in irritation and growing panic as his constant tugging on the strap of leather proved futile.  
A thump at his window startled him and his dark eyes glanced up in surprise at the panic struck blonde woman standing out the front of his door.

She was clearly trying to open it. Although what she wanted the child couldn't discern.

Perhaps she was one of those women who climbed into cars at traffic lights and stole whatever was in the backseat?  
No... Those people were evil. And as the joys of daytime cartoons had taught him, the bad guys never looked panic stricken and desperate.

The door to the car wasn't locked; it just appeared to be jammed. dark eyes glanced up and down the frame and observed with confusion that it had a large dent in it. The woman turned her head and yelled something unintelligible through the cracked glass and growing rumbling noise.

When the woman moved from his sight, she was replaced with a tree.

Furrowing his eyes in confusion the boy watched a dark haired man through the window lift a crow bar and motion for him to cover himself in the sheets.

The young raven haired boy obliged and no sooner had he done so than he heard a crack and shattering.  
The previously indecipherable voices now became clear as day and he felt the seat belt around him slacken and his slim frame lifted from the car.  
Struggling with the material he eventually managed to untangle his head from the shrapnel covered sheets.

Looking up, his piercing black eyes furrowed in confusion at the strange man carrying him away from the car he should be in. He should be on his way to his new house to see his father and his brother, Itachi; not being carried away by a random stranger.  
Said man lowered him down against a tree stump and sat in front of the boy.

"Ok, I want you to just look at me and tell me your name, your phone number if you know it and where you live."

The man seemed in a hurry and the child indulged the man his questions.  
Several times he tried to glance over his shoulder only to have the man turn his chin back towards him.  
Tilting his head in curiosity the boys eyebrows creased as the sound of sirens alerted him to flashing lights.  
An ambulance raced past him and he turned his head to watch it, eyes expanding in frozen horror as he watched his mothers bloodied body pulled from the smouldering wreckage. The image was forever ingrained into his irises

* * *

"Come on little brother, if we stay here any longer he is going to catch up to us."

A raven haired youth hoisted the 11 year old into the front seat of the car and took the time only to ensure his brothers safety before jumping in himself and flooring the accelerator.  
The car took off with the screech of tires and the smell of burning rubber.  
The elder turned once, elbow on the headrest and hand on the opposing seat to glance fretfully out the back window in favour of using the rear view mirror.  
The red Corvette that had been stalking them all day sped up and began to tail them.  
Two pairs of black eyes in the front of the blue car met briefly before turning back to the road.  
Dodging in and out of the traffic, the raven haired man negotiated the inner city streets with the skill of a driver twice his age.  
The younger of the two briefly looked to the side mirror; his dark eyes seemingly the only thing he could move.  
His left arm was grasping the inner handle of the door while his right was gripping his seatbelt, his body stiffening with every sharp turn and red light ran.  
The lights of the city flashed by faster and faster in the growing darkness of dusk, the kaleidoscope of colors was making the younger boy dizzy.  
His brother shared his dark eyes and black hair, though the 19 year old had visible lines under his eyes from stress and lack of sleep.  
He desperately wished for time to recuperate but he never had the chance.  
They were always being followed.

A thud jolted the car as the Corvette tailing them attempted to run them off the road.  
The dark eyed driver swore as jerked the steering wheel back and forth in an attempt to shake off the man tailing them.  
The young passenger closed his eyes fearfully and tried to swallow his terror.  
Ever since their mother died in the car accident, the youngest raven haired brother had a phobia of moving vehicles.  
He also had a fear of the man in the red car behind them.  
Because that man hated him,  
That man blamed him for his mothers death,  
That man wanted him dead,  
That man was his father, Fugato.

The youngest of the boys glanced towards the drivers seat where his black haired brother was utilising whatever knowledge he had of street driving to the maximum.  
Despite his fear, he trusted his brother.  
After all, he had kept them safe for six years.  
Six years of fleeing, using the money they inherited to stay somewhere for a maximum of 2 weeks before being uprooted and finding another respite in which to hide.  
The dark streets of the inner suburbs had held them for 4 weeks.  
Lights, squealing tires of doomed street cars and the painful calls of those fated to die alone masked the trail of the boys for longer than they had dared to hope.  
It was never enough to stop the madman following in their footsteps, always a half step behind.  
The car made another painful jolt and the screech of metal was heard as the Corvette scraped alongside them.  
Finally succumbing to his terror the 11 year old painfully whispered,

"Itachi... Are we gonna be ok?"

The elder boy glanced briefly at his brother, worry creasing his eyebrows and an unreadable look in his eyes, before concentrating on the steering wheel and road again.  
The blue car wouldn't drive itself after all.  
A few seconds later when they hit a patch of free road he managed to flash his brother a half hearted smile and reply reassuringly,

"Sure we are, my foolish little brother."

But as a bullet blasted off one of the side mirrors, Itachi ducked and realised his comforting words weren't convincing enough to be believed.

* * *

PP

The jetty was a long one.  
It was rarely inhabited by fishermen anymore because of its decrepit state, although Itachi heard rumours of teenagers coming out every now and then to try their luck.  
It was the place their mother used to take them before a boat crashed into it, effectively crippling the structure.  
The two boys walked in nostalgic silence along the pier, reliving their favourite memories and occasionally jumping over a rotten plank of wood or hole.  
It went out a long way and it took the boys a good ten minutes to get to the other end.  
They watched as the crystal clear shallow waters became green, light blue and then a dark navy.  
Clusters of molluscs had gathered around the poles holding the structure together, their crude shells visible near the surface before disappearing into dark waters.  
Neither boy could swim, but they both enjoyed the melancholy peace the ocean presented them with.  
It wasn't a particularly nice day, dark clouds swirled over head and further out to sea lightning struck the ocean.  
The waters around the jetty however, were calm at present.  
Swinging their feet over the edge, the boys, now 13 and 21, gazed phlegmatically over the ocean.  
The riptide was visible slightly to the left of them.  
The lighter water and lack of waves giving it away.  
They had brought with them a small bag of flowers from the garden behind the house they had been squatting in the last few weeks.  
Mostly lilies and roses from the overgrown bushes and greenery.  
The youngest of the two took great pleasure in throwing the flowers into the rip and watching them float away.  
Some days they only floated a few feet per second.  
On days like today where the water was stirring in preparation for the storm, the rip was transporting the flowers away at almost 8 metres a second.

The elder of the two looked fondly at his little brother.  
He had survived well throughout the ordeal they had been facing.  
Sure he had had his share of emotional scarring and was no longer as carefree as he was as a child, but small things like this gave him a small peace of mind.  
He was mature for his age; and healthy.  
Itachi made sure he was as healthy as he could be.  
Itachi made sure that he brought the right sort of food to keep their immune systems running efficiently because getting sick enough to earn a hospital trip was out of the question.  
If they stayed somewhere long enough he would find them.  
He always found them.  
They had probably stayed longer than they should have at this place already.  
Palm Beach was beautiful, but much too flamboyant for both of their tastes anyway.  
Including sleep, Itachi had unwittingly deprived himself of the very things he overindulged his brother. His skin was pale, his ribs protruded and the deep lines under his eyes now dragged from the bridge of his nose to half way down his cheek, 2cm below his eyes.  
He was constantly exhausted and his mentality was deteriorating along with his body.  
What they needed was somewhere safe to recuperate until they were both able to go on.  
Until then it seemed they would wonder around until he was able to get a hold of someone trustworthy to take them in.  
As he pondered this, he threw a few roses into the rip, watching quietly as they were dragged away.  
His younger brother always insisted that because their mother loved the ocean so much, her spirit probably found her way to it when she died.  
That perhaps now she resided peacefully among the coral and stoic waters.  
There was a certain harmony to the idea and Itachi didn't argue.  
He supposed the reason his younger brother enjoyed throwing flowers into the water so much was just his way of remembering and cherishing their mother and the memories that came with her.  
Sometimes Itachi even mistook flowing strands of seaweed for the dark hair of his mother blowing in the wind.

The jetty creaked behind them and Itachi put it down to the strain of the water.  
It had been standing in disrepair for many years after all.  
He sighed and reached into the bag for another flower to find it empty.  
He smiled quietly as he glanced at the content expression on his brothers face.  
It soon turned to a slight scowl however as it started to rain.  
It seemed the storm had caught up to them.  
Standing up, Itachi held out his hand to his brother and pulled him up as he took it.  
The content scowl on his brothers face turned to wide eyed shock in a sudden split second as he recognised the shape of his father coming from behind Itachi through the rain.  
Itachi realised the danger too late and watched in horror as his little brother was pushed into the ocean, perilously close to the rip.  
The boy splashed around and took large breaths of air in gasps and gulps as he flailed his arms and disappeared underwater every few seconds.  
Despite Itachi constantly giving his brother everything he needed to survive...

They never had swimming lessons.

Without a second thought, Itachi dived head first into the water, gasping as the cold shocked his body and the salt stung his eyes.  
Surfacing close to his brother he grasped the boys shirt and pushed him forcefully towards the poles supporting the pier and in turn, himself away.  
The young boy cried out as the mussels and shellfish cut into his skin and the green algae made the pole slippery and difficult to grasp.  
He turned to see his older brother desperately clawing the surface in an effort to swim towards him as the rip pulled him away.  
He called out encouragements to his brother as his tears merged with the ocean.

"ITACHI DONT LEAVE ME!"

Itachi got a glimpse of his brother as he surfaced again.  
It seemed he was able to get a hold of the pier after all.  
Well that was something at least...  
As the rushing water dragged him further away he sunk under the surface again, no longer trying to swim back to his brother so much as trying to stay afloat.  
He breeched the water again.  
It was raining hard now and he could barely see his brother through the misty downpour.  
He wasn't much more of a blurred speck in the distance now.  
Itachi took a quick gasp of air before a wave resubmerged him in the water.  
Despite his panic, it was more peaceful than he thought it would be.  
It was quiet down here.  
All the colors and sounds above seemed to become dull.  
Opening his eyes and he gazed almost lazily at his reflection mirrored on the underside of the oceans face, he understood and accepted that he would never resurface.  
Perhaps this is symbolic, he thought, perhaps this way I will be with mother.  
The waves above now gently caressed his body below and he found himself confronted with a head of long, thick hair...  
No, not hair, he realised, it was seaweed.  
There would be no miraculous spiritual rescue courtesy of his mother.  
At least I get roses and lilies at my funeral.  
Despite himself, Itachi s face projected a hint of amusement at the thought of himself and his brother unwittingly throwing flowers into the waters that would provide him his final resting place.  
It was a strange sensation, floating.  
Gravity had no hold beneath the ocean.  
The only thing that governed whether he rose or fell was how much air was in his lungs.  
Closing his eyes, Itachi slowly let go of his breath, seeing no point in holding it anymore.  
The bubbles tickled his face as they fought to get to the surface.  
He vaguely recalled a song that mother would sing to them when they were children.  
Perhaps if he sang it he would truly be with her in his death, as his brother believed he would.  
He had no breath in his lungs and singing underwater wasn't his specialty.  
Humming it would have to do.

As he sunk below the ocean, the corners of Itachis mouth twitched in the ghost of a peaceful smile.

The cold soaked him through to the bone and the shells on the pole tore at his flesh.  
He couldn't see Itachi anymore nor hear him.  
He gasped and held back tears.  
Maybe he should let go as well.  
Perhaps there was no point to go on anymore.  
But he supposed Itachi wouldn't want that.  
And neither would his mother.  
So he clung to the pole with all his might, his clothes torn to shreds and his arms bleeding into the ocean like ink.

The night was long and cold.  
He knew he was developing hypothermia and probably pneumonia.  
Drifting in and out of consciousness he vaguely remembered wondering if his blood would attract sharks.  
Eventually the storm stopped and with it the rain.  
He continued to shiver.  
When the sun finally rose, casting red rays across the still waters, his condition had deteriorated and he fell into a deep sleep.

He awoke to a sensation of movement and for a few seconds he thought of the waves of the ocean.  
But no, this was a continuous movement that has no breaks in between waves.  
He couldn't be in the ocean.  
The boy twitched his fingers.  
They felt stiff and although cold they were dry.  
Slowly he opened his salt encrusted eyes.  
Through the blur and haze, fluorescent lights overhead continuously flashed above him.  
As he concluded he was laying on his back a sudden thought struck him.  
In a hoarse, dry voice he whispered, "Am I dead?"  
He didn't really expect an answer, who would reply if he really was dead?  
Hence the boy started slightly when a man replied gravely, "Far from it, son."  
Ah, humans.  
I am alive after all.  
It certainly explained the pain. The boy closed his eyes and sighed.  
Fluorescent lights in Heaven would be a total rip-off anyway.

* * *

He had never really thought much of the cliché dark alley murder or robbery.  
It never really struck him as the sort of thing that actually happened.  
So he decided to take a shortcut home through a small alley that crossed his path and conveniently led 2 blocks from his apartment.  
The flat soles of his heels made a crisp sound as he casually walked across the cobbled ground.  
Not a soul in sight.  
Obviously the "dark alley cliché" was incorrect after all.  
He smirked slightly.  
But when a sinister voice called out to him from the shadows, the grey eyed boy jumped in surprise and found himself repeating the mantra he whispered to himself every time he woke to a noise in the night.  
_Please don't be him please don't be him please don't be him_  
His fears came true, however, when he turned and heard chuckling coming from behind the dumpster.  
"Hello, oh dearest son of mine," a familiar voice growled.

His heart skipped a beat when he recognized his father's voice. "Um, hello…" he replied uncertainly.

The air's temperature seemed to drop about 10 degrees Celsius.  
"I have finally found you again," Fugato said, wrapping one of his huge hands around his son's mouth from behind and the other holding a knife to his throat.  
"And, now it's time for you to die," he said, tightening his grip.  
The hand around his mouth tightened and prevented his screams from reaching anyone within earshot.  
The gap between the knife and his throat closed.  
A sting and dribbling warmth told him that his father had pressed the knife hard enough to draw blood.

"You know it's been quite a while since I've seen you. And look at you now. 15 years old. You really grew up"

Despite his fear, the teenagers grey eyes hardened in defiance and hatred. This was undoubtedly the end.  
His father was never one to draw things out.  
At least Itachi wouldn't get caught in this one.  
The growing sting in his neck and tightening muscles in his fathers arm told him that he was tensing to make his final move.  
This would probably be his last breath.  
Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the image of his mother and brother.  
Maybe they would be together again soon...

**Bam. Bam. Bam.**

Three gunshots were heard, and his father's hold on his son's throat let up as he fell to the ground.  
The raven haired teen, still digesting what had just happened, turned around to see a figure, shrouded in shadows, pointing a revolver at where his dad had just been standing.  
"You're welcome," a monotone said.  
He glanced behind him at his fathers body; the garbage he had fallen into seemed ironically fitting.  
Reaching up to his neck, his finger tips felt clotting blood around a wound that would scar.  
He frowned in anger. His father really had been an asshole.  
The click of a gun from the shadows drew his attention back to the other presence in the dark alley way.  
Turning his head back to the front, the teenagers grey eyes watched the figure start towards him.  
As the shadows smoothly reclined, the boy was revealed the body of his saviour, a hint of anxiety washed over him.  
Unruly blonde hair, wide blue eyes...  
Gun pointed at the raven haired boys heart...  
He had never met this man before.  
The youth lowered the gun and frowned, holding out his hand and indicating his fathers corpse.

"I hope you don't have to put up with shit like that all the time..."

Sighing in relief and less worried now that the gun was pointed away from his, the boy reached out a shaking hand and took it in the golden haired youths in a bloody handshake.  
Running a bloodstained hand through his raven hair and glancing nervously back at his father, the teenager glared at what remained of his bloody head, tensing himself to run in case he got up again. Once he was confident that his father was in fact, dead, he replied in a cautiously optimistic monotone,

"Who are you..?"

The boys blue eyes softened and his eyes curved upwards in a happy, shut eyed smile.  
He tugged the grey eyed boy away from the scene lest they be caught.  
Several streets passed by in a blur and as they ran the blonde boy turned his head back and called out,

"My name's Naruto. What's yours?"

The boy with grey eyes and black hair glanced up at the blonde, still trying to digest all that had happened.  
Deciding it was best to be straight and honest with the boy, he raised his head and replied,

"My name is Sasuke."

* * *

**Tada!  
Thats it...**

**I hope it satisfied your Uchiha Sasuke cravings because I am done with the butthole now.**

**He was cute when he was little...**

**And kishimoto ruined it D:**


	6. The Akatsuki

**You might recognise this as a story I have done before.**  
**I have edited it a bit and placed it here, mainly because it was taking up space (or so I felt) and because it fits in here.**  
**This one isnt so dark and doesnt focus on any particular person so much, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. :D**

* * *

The Akatsuki minus Deidara, all sat in the lounge room, each holding a scrap of paper advertising the same thing:

_Come to the shed I use to make my explosives at around 9pm tonight.  
_  
Sasori narrowed his eyes at the paper in suspicion  
"Well… Either the brat has finally lost it and wants to blow us all sky high… Or we are being targeted by enemy shinobi who have Deidara captive…"

Itachi raised his hand slowly and in a monotonous voice murmured,

"I vote he has lost it."

His claim was met by a few nods and hidden grins of amusement before Konan drew their attention to the backs of their paper slips.

"Konan, it will be a good chance to get all close to Pein" she read slowly.  
_Oh god what has this kid planned…?  
_  
"Well I think we should go…" Kakuzu announced happily.

Kisame glared at him suspiciously, "What does yours say…?

"It will be a nice night…"

"No it doesn't." Zetsu read over his shoulder, "It says "I have the location of several shinobi with large bounties on their heads.""

Kakuzu snatched the paper away and shoved it inside his shirt pocket in frustration.  
Looking over his shoulder and noticing Itachi hiding his slip of paper, he called, "Itachi, what does yours say?"

Jumping slightly at the fact someone was acknowledging him, Itachi glanced over before slowly withdrawing his paper.  
He dropped it once, twice, and then gradually cleared his throat before moving his gaze to the scrawled writing on his paper.  
He squinted and brought it close to his face, tilting it left and right trying to make sense of it.  
Tobi stumbled over to Itachi and read, "If you don't come tonight, I will know you couldn't read this."

"We're going." Itachi stated immediately.

"Hang on a second. I call the shots here and I say we are going!"

Pein seemed oblivious to how childish his statement sounded.  
Rolling his eyes, Hidan called, "Tobi! What does yours say you stupid idiot?"

"I had a spare piece of paper, don't fuck anything up and stay away from my shed..."

* * *

At 8:30 the group set off towards Deidaras tumble down old shed.  
Mildew grew in abundance on a large haystack long abandoned that resided next to it.  
Pein had made sure Deidara chose a location that was a fair distance from the secret base as there was no doubt as to what he would be doing down there.  
It was an old decrepit building, half collapsed on one side and sporting scorch marks along one wall, it was a miracle it had somehow survived.

Deidara had found it in their weekly scout and had asked Pein immediately if he could use it for his own means.  
Pein had agreed without hesitation, mainly because he felt uncomfortable with the amount of explosive material and clay that Deidara was bringing home each night.

A ladder was set up along the back side of the haystack and a makeshift arrow had been spray painted on the decrepit hay, pointing them up the ladder.  
After suspicious looks and skeptical thoughts, they climbed one by one until they all sat comfortably along the edge of the hay several meters high.  
An old rug had been laid out on top so that they wouldn't get dirty and Deidara had equipped them all with cans of sugary drinks and bags of chips which tasted heavenly given their junk food deprived state.

The sun had set and the sky was clear, the smog and clouds for once settling down for the night and allowing them access to the heavens.  
The silence was broken when a loud bang emitted from a spot a few hundred meters in front of them.  
Everyone jumped and for a second, Sasori's silly story about Deidara planning to blow them sky high ran through everyones minds again until they saw it.

A spark as large as a basketball court exploded in the air high above them. The colors changed from red to green in a marvelous display of light.  
After the initial explosion, the sparks fizzled and descended towards the ground, extinguished long before they touched Earth.  
No one jumped at the second explosion. Just gazed up in awe at the makeshift fireworks Deidara had created for them.

Blue, red, green, yellow, purple…

The temporary light lit up the sky in flashes and bursts making the beauty of the stars seem insignificant in contrast.  
Though before them on the ground, the Earth lay in ruins, Deidara had managed to get everyone to temporarily forget the world, and gaze up at the heavens, though sometimes clouded, untouched, unchanging and beautiful in its simplicity.

Konan smiled. Each spark reminding her of the people she loved, the fire and life that still burned within them all. The most basic instinct, to stay alive, ran deep and hard through their veins. In each spark she saw people she had once known, people she had sentenced to death, and people she would never see again.

Relief washed over her as she felt the harbored guilt ebb away. Each small explosion a life in its own right, reminded her of everyone who had ever impacted on her life.  
She could almost see their faces…  
A single tear of happiness, sadness and self-forgiveness paved its way down her delicate face.

* * *

15 minutes on and no one had said a word. There was no need. The small act of enjoying a fireworks show brought more peace of mind to them all than any of them would have ever imagined.  
How long had it been since any of them had enjoyed something so innocent, so simple?

No one realized how much they missed the old world of their youth, the carnivals and festivals, the bustling of the crowds, being able to fit in without having to say a word.  
Not having to worry about looking different or feeling left out because where you were, everyone was different and no one was ever forgotten.  
Deidara had climbed up the ladder behind them towards the end, deciding to let the last of the fireworks set themselves off, and dropped himself down in between Sasori and Kisame.

They glanced down fondly at his juvenile face, unaware of their stares. Kisame and Sasori met eyes and they smiled.  
Any regrets Sasori may have had in being partnered with Deidara, which were few and far between as it was, were long forgotten and pushed aside. Despite the argument about art that would inevitably follow, Deidara had just done more for all of them than he would ever know.  
He supposed that being the youngest, the blonde still had an element of innocence about him, however tarnished it may be.

The final firework sparked and ignited, its stream seen faintly soaring heaven bound until it sparked and exploded, a deep purple turning crimson and fading into black as it died out.

Gradually they began to stand and leave, half eaten chip packets and empty cans littering the top of the hay stack.  
Deidara was the last to jump down and he grinned at them knowingly; as if he knew all along that the only thing he needed to do to make things better, was to refine his explosive personality into a burst of color.

"Deidara…"

The blonde boy turned and faced Sasori who gave him a ghost of a smile and nodded his head.

"Thank you."

* * *

**So there you are.**  
**I dont quite remember what sparked this story..**  
**I think it was a memory of when I went to a festival once.**  
**Something about the atmosphere was really different, almost peaceful, and when the firework show started no one made a sound until it finished despite there being heaps of rides etc, it all kind of just shut down and seemed irrelevant..**  
**It made me feel a part of something bigger than myself I suppose, this massive crowd all having the same appreciation for something at the same time.**  
**Kinda like a shoal of fish I guess.**  
**Sounds silly when I write it out...**  
**Ill stop blabbing now, I probably only wrote that to explain it to myself how I felt rather than anyone else haha.**


	7. Sasori

**Guess I'm in another one of those broody moods again.**  
**Not in the mood to write any more humor tonight, so I updated this instead haha...**  
**Enjoy the depressoness lol**

* * *

Sasori lay awake in his bed in a state of eternal lugubriousness and sighed.  
The constant ticking of the clock on his dresser, forever reminded him that he was awake at 3:41am, and not as he should be, asleep.  
The red glow of the numbers cast soft shadows around the room which may have frightened a smaller child.  
But he was no longer a child.  
He had almost hit 36...

Watching as his breath swirled in the air like mist, Sasori brushed a red strand of stray hair off his face that had been tickling his nose.  
It wasn't the dark that scared him.  
It was the knowledge that in the room directly next to his, exactly 7 metres away, there was an anxious, blonde insomniac with a cupboard full of explosives.  
The slow melodic footsteps of the pacing man, was quietened by the thick walls so it was more the vibration than the noise that let Sasori know Deidara was still awake.  
Deidaras footsteps, continual and rhythmic, reminded him of a slowly ticking metronome going through its paces.  
His steps could be almost timed and vaguely Sasori wondered if the soft, dull thuds could lull him to sleep.  
Shivering a little from the cold and the knowledge that any second he could be blown sky high, Sasori debated getting out of bed and consoling the young boy or staying in the warmth of his blankets.

But no, just like himself, Deidara was no longer a child.

"Although he certainly acts like one," Sasori grumbled.

But perhaps being childish wasn't so bad.  
Obliviousness to the horrible world around them was perhaps the one thing that Sasori envied of children.

They didn't know that people like him existed in worlds other than the fairytales they were told before they went to sleep.

They didn't know that sometimes, good doesn't conquer evil.

They didn't know that everything they grow up believing is a lie...

Sasori sighed and rolled over.  
Sometimes he hated what he had become.  
Because he too, was once one of those young children, eager to hear the story of the brave prince fighting an evil lord of some kind and rescuing the princess.  
Those stories always had a happy ending and despite being evil beyond all reason, the bad guy always lost.

_So why am I the bad guy...?  
Shouldn't I have learned that good trumps evil?  
Or am I just trying to see reason in the lie...?_

Sasori closed his eyes again desperate to slip into the comfortable unconscious state that was sleep.

* * *

**As always, leave your rates, reviews, complaints and pathetic excuses after the beep.**


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